


Grief

by Josselin



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Drunk Sex, Grief/Mourning, Griva, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Not Really Character Death, Punching, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-29 23:44:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13937976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Josselin/pseuds/Josselin
Summary: Laurent drained the second goblet, and when he held it out to Nikandros a second time Nikandros took it, and set it back on the small table. Nikandros placed his hands on Laurent’s shoulders instead. “We will see him revenged,” he said solemnly. “Then we will see him remembered. He will never be forgotten.”





	Grief

**Author's Note:**

> me: how do I decide what to write this morning, friends?
> 
> nikanndros: josselin write something to fuck us up
> 
> me: well the idea that was fucking me up came from someone else.  
> who was it who said Nikandros and Laurent have grief-stricken drunk sex after they find out Damen died?
> 
> nikanndros: I SAID THAT  
> YES JOSSELIN HIT ME UP
> 
> me: so I can write this premise with no guilt about having forgotten who I stole it from?
> 
> nikanndros: YESSSS steal away

Nikandros had been watching Laurent since the news came the day before. He had been watching the messenger, and then once the words had registered, he turned from the messenger to Laurent to see Laurent’s reaction. Part of Nikandros had thought, for an instant, that this would be some kind of plot between the two of them. Some sort of scheme that they’d arranged, sneaking off with some cloth wagons or something, and that Laurent would now reveal the second phase of whatever the scheme was.

Any hope of that was extinguished when he saw Laurent’s face. Laurent did not have the expression of a man revealing a trick. His expression was grief-struck and trying to control it, and he said, his voice steady, “We will raze them to the ground,” and then he walked out.

The first hours had been occupied with the plans for war, and then with plans for having the kyroi swear allegiance to Leon, and then Laurent had said, still clear-eyed, “I must talk to Leon,” and Nikandros did not follow him into the nursery.

Neither of them slept. Laurent was not dressed in mourning the following day only because he had not changed. In the morning their time was occupied with the council, and in the afternoon with the generals, and in the evening Nikandros learned that Leon had been sent away to Jokaste’s keep in Isthima, which left his blood cold. 

He asked Pallas where Laurent had gone, and was directed to the kings’ chambers, and he went there. There was no response when he knocked, but after a long moment Nikandros entered the room anyway. 

He had not allowed himself to think about what he might find, but in some small way he was relieved to simply see Laurent standing in front of the window, staring out. 

“Your majesty,” said Nikandros. 

Laurent turned around. He was holding a dagger in his hands, which did nothing to reassure Nikandros. 

“You sent Leon away,” said Nikandros.

“I told him,” said Laurent. “He didn’t listen to me.” Nikandros thought he meant Leon, at first, and was preparing to say that death was a hard thing for a toddler to understand, when Laurent said, “I knew it was a trap and I couldn't stop him from riding into it,” and it became clear he wasn’t speaking about Leon at all. 

Nikandros walked cautiously across the room, feeling especially conscious of the unsheathed dagger in Laurent’s white-knuckled hand and the window overlooking the parapets behind him.

“He did not listen to me, either,” said Nikandros. He had asked himself all of these same questions before. What words could he have used to have made Damen understand? Why had he not spoken earlier, been more convincing, forced him to pay attention? When they had walked in the orchard years earlier, Nikandros had been agitated, nervous, trying to straddle the line between alerting Damen to treason and committing treason himself, and he had had months afterward to rethink the conversation in his mind and find all of the ways in which it had been inadequate.

There was no peace in doing that, Nikandros knew.

“You must not think of that now,” said Nikandros to Laurent, taking another step closer. He would feel much better if he could get Laurent to set the dagger down. “You must think now about our revenge,” he said. “You must think about Leon; he will need you.”

Laurent’s eyes were wide. “I can’t think,” he said, sounding stricken. “I can’t--how could he do this to me?”

Nikandros let his hand rest gently on Laurent’s wrist, and then he moved it down Laurent’s arm to take the dagger from him. Laurent loosened his fingers and let Nikandros take the weapon. Nikandros dropped it to the floor, where it echoed against the stone, and then he tugged on Laurent’s arm to draw him a few steps away. 

The servants kept the kings’ chambers well supplied, so there was a table with various bottles of liquor, and most of them were full. Nikandros took one, poured liberally into a goblet, and handed it to Laurent. 

“Drink.”

Laurent stared at it for a moment, as though he weren’t quite sure what it was, and then he drank it down in the same manner he did when raucously challenging Makedon to a contest, and held out the empty goblet toward Nikandros to refill. 

Nikandros had come intending to debate with Laurent the wisdom of sending Leon away, but it was clear there was no point in logical argument with Laurent. Laurent sending Leon away was not part of some sort of larger plan for the country; it was Laurent attempting to arrange his affairs.

Laurent drained the second goblet, and when he held it out to Nikandros a second time Nikandros took it, and set it back on the small table. Nikandros placed his hands on Laurent’s shoulders instead. “We will see him revenged,” he said solemnly. “Then we will see him remembered. He will never be forgotten.”

Laurent looked at him. Nikandros could see his eyes glistening. “He left me,” said Laurent, and his voice broke, and then he crumpled and Nikandros half-caught him and maneuvered them over to a settee. 

There was a time of crying during which they did not speak. When Laurent spoke again, his voice was hoarse. “I’m so angry at him,” he said. 

Nikandros found, unusually, that he was in complete agreement with the Veretian King. Laurent was still leaning against him on the settee. “I am also.”

“He doesn’t listen and then he leaves us to do all of the hard work,” said Laurent.

“It’s typical,” said Nikandros, angling a foot toward the liquor table to draw it within reach. 

“Good idea,” said Laurent, and he raised himself from Nikandros’s shoulder to grab two bottles off of the liquor table. 

Nikandros reached out a hand toward one of them.

“Get your own,” said Laurent.

The liquor disappeared quickly, and somehow the second time that Laurent began to cry against Nikandros’s shoulder it was unbearable. Nikandros placed a hand on the back of Laurent’s head and shushed him as though he were Leon. He was drunk himself, now, feeling the effects of the liquor on top of the emotional exhaustion and having not slept the previous night, and he felt as though he would do anything to make Laurent stop crying. 

However, he was still surprised when Laurent pulled his face away from Nikandros’s shoulder, leaned in, and kissed him. 

He did not react for a moment, and then he thought of pulling away, and then he thought, somehow, that this was the closest he would ever come to Damen again, and he drew Laurent in closer on the settee.

Nikandros had asked after Damen’s slaves, after his death, and of course they had all been dead. But Nikandros might have cared for them, otherwise, have taken them into his household and provided for them, and then at night buried himself in memories of his friend. 

He rolled them slightly on the settee so that Laurent was lying on his back with Nikandros over him, and Nikandros pretended, for a moment, that that was what he was doing now. Because it was easier to imagine remembering Damen with one of his slaves beneath him than it was to confront that he was actually making love with the frigid King of Vere. 

Laurent tasted of liquor, beneath him, and his mouth was wet and he moved sinuously beneath Nikandros. Nikandros could feel the fine silk of his pants against his thigh where his chiton had rode up, and the stiff embroidery of Laurent’s jacket against his chest.

He pulled away to breathe, for a moment, and Laurent said, “Put your hand in my hair,” and Nikandros closed his eyes and thought _Damianos_ , and he moved one of his hands up to wind around the strands of Laurent’s hair, and then leaned in to take Laurent’s mouth again.

Laurent opened eagerly to him, like a baby bird waiting to be fed by its mother returning to the nest. Laurent shifted his head, which caused his hair to pull in Nikandros’s hand, and then, seeing the flutter of Laurent’s eyelashes, Nikandros tightened his grip on Laurent’s hair and used his hand to keep Laurent’s head in place.

There was another interlude of kissing, and then Laurent squirmed beneath Nikandros on the settee and said, “Sit up,” and Nikandros did. He unwound his hand from Laurent’s hair. 

Nikandros felt more sober, sitting up, and also more intoxicated. The air was cooler when he was not pressed against Laurent. He should go, he thought. He should help Laurent into his bed to sleep, alone, and he should go. He should take the dagger with him, perhaps. 

He looked down at Laurent, to tell him of the plan. Laurent face was stained with tears and his mouth was reddened. His hair was a bird’s nest. And he was determinedly unlacing his own pants, his fingers moving with astonishing speed over the complicated strings given the hour and the amount of griva he’d consumed.

Laurent met his eyes. “Do not tell me that chitons are more convenient.”

Nikandros stared. “I was not going to say that.”

Laurent glared up at him challengingly, and Nikandros understood, and he said, “But they are.”

“Make yourself useful,” said Laurent, and then, “There is oil on that table.”

Nikandros fetched the oil more in response to the commanding tone of the king’s voice than because he understood what they were going to do with it. 

When he sat back down on the settee, Laurent had managed to remove his pants, though not his jacket. He did not seem interested in bothering with the jacket, though, and he rolled over onto his stomach on the settee. Nikandros could see the mess of his hair, and then the embroidered jacket covering his shoulders with the lacing still done up along the arms, and then the revealed skin of his buttocks and legs. He was more muscular than one of Damen’s slaves would have been, but the creamy skin was almost as flawless.

“Are you certain--” Nikandros started, and Laurent turned to glare at him over his shoulder.

“Do not ask me that,” said Laurent, and then, “Touch my hair again.”

Nikandros stopped thinking of Laurent and thought of Damen. He imagined Damen touching Laurent’s hair, and the gentle joy he would have had while doing so. He prepared Laurent with his fingers and thought, Damen has done this, and then, when he finally slid inside Laurent after a drunken attempt that only pressed against his thigh, he thought again of Damianos. 

Nikandros had seen Damen make love before. They had been boyhood companions with all that had entailed, and as men they had dallied together with slaves, occasionally sharing their pleasure. He knew how Damen had been, with a lover, and he thought of it as he took Laurent.

Laurent was doing the same, because as Nikandros was approaching climax, Laurent said, “Damianos,” and Nikandros heard the whisper of his friend’s name again as he pulsed inside of Laurent.

Laurent cried again, afterward, his face pressed against Nikandros’s chest now rather than against his chiton, and eventually sleep claimed them.

Nikandros awoke to the sound of a door, and he eyed the height of the sun in the window blearily and thought “I am late to meet with Damen,” and then he blinked his eyes fully open.

He sat up as he heard footsteps, trying not to move in a way that would roll Laurent off the edge of the settee next to him, and he looked over toward the door just as Damen emerged in the doorway.

“Laurent--” said Damen, and then he stopped in the doorway, taking in his friend.

Nikandros looked down at Laurent, in the same way he’d looked over to Laurent when the messenger had finished speaking. He had never thought that he’d look to the King of Vere for direction, for answers, and yet he found himself doing so.

He saw the scene as Damen must have seen it. The settee with the liquor table pulled over next to it. The empty bottles strewn on the floor, and a goblet turned on its side next to the foot of the settee. The jar of oil sitting next to a half-full bottle of griva. Nikandros sitting on the settee naked, and Laurent blinking awake next to him, still wearing his jacket but no pants.

“ _Nikandros_ \--” said Damen.

Nikandros was spared from having to answer by Laurent sitting up, and then standing up, and then walking remarkably steadily across the room. 

Damen watched Laurent approach. Nikandros was not sure what to expect when Laurent stood in front of Damen. Would Laurent break into tears again? Fall into Damen’s arms? Kiss him passionately? Should Nikandros be averting his eyes?

Laurent stopped when he was standing in front of Damen. Nikandros and Damen were both obviously waiting for him to speak. 

When Laurent drew his arm back instead, and punched Damen hard across the mouth, Damen made no effort to block to the blow. Damen stepped back, raising a hand to his face. Laurent held his fist against his chest, as though hitting Damen had hurt him, somehow.

The door opened again and Pallas burst in, “The king is alive!”

Pallas observed that half of them were naked and Damen’s nose was bleeding, and became obviously uncomfortable.

“Thank you, Pallas,” said Nikandros, and Pallas left rapidly. Nikandros wished he could escape as easily. 

Laurent was still staring at Damen, gaze flinty. “You were dead,” he said.

“I’m not dead,” said Damen, unnecessarily.

“Get out,” said Laurent.

Damen stretched an entreating hand toward Laurent. “Laurent, I--”

“Out,” Laurent repeated. Damen took two steps toward the door.

“Wait,” Nikandros said, and Damen stopped hopefully in the doorway. Nikandros rose from the settee and walked across the room himself. He stood in front of Damen, wondering what he was going to do. Cry? Fall to his knees? Pull Damen into his arms? He could see Damen wondering it also as he stared at his friend’s eyes, and then he followed Laurent’s lead and punched Damen hard a second time.

Damen’s face turned, with the blow, and he staggered back against the door frame.

Nikandros turned back to Laurent. Laurent nodded approvingly. “Now out,” he said, and Damen left. 

It was better and worse when they were alone in the room. Nikandros’s eye caught the dagger still lying on the stone floor near the window. He looked over at Laurent, who was still not wearing any pants. 

Nikandros looked around for his chiton. He saw it on the floor, stained by the remnants of an overturned bottle of red wine, and he reached for it. 

When he had it in his hand but hadn’t yet pinned it on himself, Laurent said, “Come here,” and Nikandros crossed the room with the wine-stained fabric in his hand. 

Laurent put a hand on his shoulder, and for a moment Nikandros thought Laurent would make him kneel, but Laurent only looked up at him. 

“Swear to me,” said Laurent.

Nikandros’s tongue felt thick. “Swear what?”

“Next time,” said Laurent.

“There will be no next time,” said Nikandros.

“No, because next time he refuses to listen we will tie him up together and keep him gagged until the danger has passed.”

Nikandros stared at him. Laurent’s hand was warm on his shoulder. 

“Swear it,” said Laurent.

It was an oath that contradicted the oaths Nikandros had already made, solemnly at Damen’s feet, to follow and obey and protect.

“I swear it,” said Nikandros, and he felt lighter somehow for having done so.

“Good,” said Laurent, and his hand dropped from Nikandros’s shoulder. “What happened to my pants?”


End file.
